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In seventeen hundred eight and twenty,
PAULUS, AN EPIGRAM:
BY MR, LINDSAY *.
Dublin, Sept. 7 1728. * A slave to crowds, scorch'd with the summer's
“ heats, “ In courts the wretched lawyer toils and sweats, * While smiling Nature, in her best attire, « Regales each sense, and vernal joys inspire. “ Can he, who knows that real good should please, " Barter for gold his liberty and ease ?"-Thus Paulus preach'd:- When, entering at the door, Upon his board the client
pours He grasps the shining gift, pores o'er the cause, Forgets the sun, and dozes on the laws.
A polite and elegant scholar; at that time an eminent pleader at the bar in Dublin, and afterward advanced to be one of the justices of the common pleas. H.
THE ANSWER. BY DR.SWIFT, Lindsay mistakes the matter quite, And honest Paulus judges right. Then, why these quarrels to the sun, Without whose aid you're all undone? Did Paulus e'er complain of sweat? Did Paulus e'er the sun forget; The influence of whose golden beams Soon licks up all unsavoury steams? The sun, you say, his face has kiss'd: It has; but then it greas'd his fist. True lawyers, for the wisest ends, Have always been Apollo's friends. Not for his superficial powers Of ripening fruits, and gilding flowers ; Not for inspiring poets' brains With pennyless and starveling strains; Not for his boasted healing art; Not for his skill to shoot the dart; Nor yet because he sweetly fiddles; Nor for his prophecies in riddles : But for a more substantial cause Apollo's patron of the laws; Whom Paulus ever must adore, As parent of the golden ore, By Phæbus, an incestuous birth, Begot upon his grandam Earth; By Phæbus first produc'd to light: By Vulcan form'd so round and bright: Then offered at the shrine of Justice, By clients to her priests and trustees. Nor, when we see Astræa stand With eyen balance in her hand,
Must we suppose she has in view,
Now, should I own your case was grievous,
I own, the curses of mankind
Yet well they merit to be pitied,
With early clients at his door, Though he was drunk the night before, And cropsick with unclubb’d-for wine, The wretch must be at court by nine; Half sunk beneath his briefs and bag, As ridden by a midnight hag : Then, from the bar, harangues the bench, In English vile, and viler French, And Latin, vilest of the three; And all for poor ten moidores fee! Of paper how is he profuse, With periods long, in terms abstruse! What pains he takes to be prolix ! A thousand lines to stand for six! Of common sense without a word ini And is not this a grievous burden?
The lawyer is a common drudge, To fight our cause before the judge: And, what is yet a greater curse, Condemnd to bear his client's purse; While he, at ease, secure and light, Walks boldly home at dead of night; When term is ended, leaves the town, Trots to his country mansion down; And, disencumber'd of his load, No danger dreads upon the road; Despises rapparees, and rides Safe through the Newry mountains sides,
Lindsay, 'tis you have set me on, To state this question pro My satire may offend, 'tis true; However, it concerns not you. I own, there may, in every clan, Perhaps, be found one honest man; Yet link them close; in this they jump, To be but rascals in the lump. Imagine Lindsay at the bar, He's much the same his brethren are:
Well taught by practice to imbibe
'Tis hard, where dullness overrules,